


Wings of Velvet

by DevilOfWire



Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2019 [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Asphyxiation, Body Worship, Bottom Castiel, Creampie, Crying, Crying During Sex, Forest Sex, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kinktober 2019, Large Cock, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Master/Slave, One Shot, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Slut Shaming, Smut, Top Dean Winchester, Verbal Humiliation, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-02 14:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: 23.Scars| Master/Slave |Shibari| Size DifferenceDean and Castiel fuck on the forest floor one fine afternoon and Dean pays extra special attention to Castiel’sgorgeousangel wings.





	Wings of Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Oh God I’m _two_ days behind now… I’ll catch up this weekend, swear! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! :D

Castiel’s wings unfurl from his back as he’s pressed further into the dirt, a large, rough hand pinning his smaller body down to the ground.

Dean sneers over him, blocking the light, with his other hand wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s slender cock, pumping him up and down with a grip just the slightest bit too hard. Castiel whines beneath him, canting his hips confusedly, trying to meet Dean’s slick hand but also run away from it somehow.

“God, Cas, I _ love _ your wings,” Dean breathes, dragging his hand from Castiel’s nude chest to his run his nails along his side, tickling him enough to draw a cry from his glossy lips. Dean’s hand ends at one of Castiel’s spread wings, feeling the soft downy of his smallest, covert feathers with a shiver of delight. Usually it takes a lot more to draw his angel wings to the physical world: Castiel must be _ really _worked up today.

Dean slides his fingers over Castiel’s cockslit with one hand, the other doing a similar motion to the white felt of his soft feathers, slowly pulling down until he reaches the end of his massive wing with the help of Castiel involuntarily raising it towards him. He drags his calloused fingertips all the way from the quill at the start of his largest, longest flight feather up, up, up to the very end, the soft bristles in the thousands making up the feather’s fluff feeling like silk beneath his touch, all the way until it slips from his grip, falling back to the forest floor and sending the fallen leaves airborne around him.

Dean begins again, massaging Castiel’s beads of clear precum into his cockhead while playing at the down at the beginning of his wing. This time, though, he’s slower, more thorough, not just feeling the feather but also feeling the thin oil that lines his feathers to clean and soften them. He lets the oil coat his fingers until they’re slick, dragging it through his wing from the gland at the start to the very tip of his feathers, wetting them with oil all the way through.

Castiel moans breathily underneath him, both from the fingers still playing around with his cock and the bliss as his wing is pet, turned from dry and mussy as it usually is to glistening and straight as Dean combs his fingers through it attentively.

Once he’s touched every last feather on Castiel’s one wing, he stops with one last tug to his longest primary feather, drawing his hand away and breathing a sigh of dismay.

But not for long, as he switches his hands off and back on, hand that had been sliding through the oil taking its turn on Castiel’s cock to slick it with the liquid and mix it with his cum, the hand that had been jacking him off a second ago going to the opposite wing untouched until now.

He grooms the second wing expertly. He’s done it _ hundreds _of times before, fingers knowing it from muscle memory at this point, but as Castiel thrashes his wing it proves somewhat difficult.

Dean frowns. “God, can you stop moving, _ slut?” _

“C-can’t,” Castiel pants under him, hips thrashing to try to get away from Dean’s hand but Dean chasing him every step of the way, “cum, c-cumming, _ Dean–” _

Dean rips his hand away from his leaking cock almost in disgust, glaring at Castiel in his fucked-out eyes with rage. He brings his free hand covered in oil and pre down on Castiel’s hard cock, slapping him hard with the flat of his hand on his most sensitive spot.

_ “Master,” _Dean spits loudly over Castiel’s scream that echoes through the trees.

“Master,” Castiel corrects, whimpering as Dean tugs on his wing half-assedly, still pouting with seething anger.

_ “Master, sir, daddy, _ but not ever _ Dean,” _ he grates, “how _ hard _ is it to remember, _ whore?” _

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whines, tears pricking at his eyes.

Dean just shakes his head, laying his hand on Castiel’s twitching thigh and mussing through his feathers with the other. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have expected much from such a stupid cunt like you anyway.”

At those words alone, Castiel sobs, Dean uncaring, just pulling on his feathers, letting himself be calmed by the feeling of the swirling oil, the baby-soft feathers, the solid spines of his quills. Castiel shakes slightly but has stopped his annoying movements, trying to please his master by leaning his wing into his touches.

The wing is pretty, glossy and neat when Dean finally stops, letting it fall back to the earth as he rubs his wet thumb and index together. The wings are gigantic, easily the size of an entire person each laying on the dirt and leaves and spurts of grass, dwarfing Castiel’s small frame. They gleam a lurid white in the bright sunlight streaming in through the tall oak trees surrounding them, looking unreal, so perfect and God-like, impossibly clean.

Absolutely heavenly.

Castiel cries out in horror when he feels dirt begin to soil his wings, flying onto them by two large hands digging into the ground and throwing them up. Soil, tiny stones, dead twigs, crumpled leaves, it all begins to cover the shining white of his wings until they’re more muck than feather, pure white made invisible beneath the disgusting garbage.

Dean laughs, bringing his dirtied hands up to wipe them on his jeans, as Castiel tries to remove the dirt by flapping his wings. He succeeds in dislodging most of the larger sticks and stones and bits of leaves, no longer weighed down as he returns them to the ground, but when he glances over at them, his jaw drops in depressed shock. The soil has seeped into his feathers, staining his wings an awful light brown colour, every single feather feeling dry and dirty as he fans them.

Castiel sobs, dropping his head to the floor, wings going limp beneath him. They’re the only remaining tie to heaven since he’d permanently fallen upon the earth, precious more than the very air he had to breathe now.

And Dean had ruined them.

“How does it make you feel, _ slave?” _ A low voice rumbles above him.

Castiel shakes his head from side to side, writhing in misery as tears break from his waterline. “Awful. Filthy. Horrendous.”

_ “Mma..?” _

“Master.”

Dean pats Castiel’s naked thigh, hand clean enough of mud. “Good.” He reaches behind himself, towards his bag he’d thrown onto a bit of long grass. “That’s how I want you to feel, whore. Because that’s what you really are.”

Dean leans over him, letting him watch with wide, glossy eyes as he drizzles some thick lube into his palm. “Underneath all that plumage, under all the lights, that’s all you are. Just a dirty, nasty _ slut.” _

Castiel can’t deny this fact because Dean thrusts his fingers inside of him, two of them initially, a second later becoming _ three. _ He keens, coloured wings flapping dust into the air. It _ hurts, _ hurts _ so bad, _ tears streaming down his cheeks, face stuck in a grimace. Dean’s fingers are so much larger than his—everything about him is _ so much larger _ than him—one of Dean’s thick fingers almost like _ two _of his much slender ones.

Dean spreads his fingers inside of his hole, the jelly of the lube the only thing that keeps him from being torn apart by those rough digits. He’d been virgin tight just a minute before—having not been allowed to touch himself at all for _ days _ until they returned from the hunt—but Dean doesn’t care at all, doesn’t even seem to notice, just ruts his fingers against Castiel’s hole hard and fast until his body learns to make room, loosening so quickly it sends volts of pure agony up his spine.

“Doesn’t it feel good, bitch?”

It doesn’t, not at all. “Y-yes, s-sir,” Castiel groans through tears.

Dean makes a hum of approval, fucking his fingers in all the way to the last knuckle, grinding his hand in against his taint to try to reach even further. Castiel trembles under him, body wracked with uncontrollable sobs of pain. Dean slides his hand out to the tips only to fuck them in again, _ hard, _ running right along Castiel’s prostate. The angel’s back arches in response, a white-hot flash of pleasure gracing his body and making his wings flutter before it all runs away much too quickly, the misery taking over again. He’s left breathless, rib cage heaving in shivering breaths, unable to control himself _ at all. _

Dean repeats his actions, snickering at Castiel’s response. He thrusts his fingers in and out, dragging them out all the way to play with his soaked, reddened rim before slamming back in, holding the roundness of Cas’s ass in his palm, getting that too wet with slimy lube that leaks from his hole, splattering when he fucks his fingers in just fast enough.

The pain begins to dissipate, body becoming numb to it, mind distracted by the rare waves of pleasure when Dean decides to stroke his prostate, liking the way seminal fluid leaks from his pink tip.

“You want more yet, slut?”

Castiel hesitates. Is he meant to say yes? Or maybe not–

_ “Huh?” _ Dean snaps, fucking _ four _ fingers into Castiel’s already crowded hole. The angel screams, back arching all the way till it hurts.

“Yes!” Castiel cries, bearing down on the hand just before Dean rips them out, scoffing.

“Dumb fucking slut.”

And then a warm, thick thing presses against Castiel’s slightly gaping hole, forcing his brow to furrow in confusion. _ What? _ How in the world was Dean going to fuck him _ already? _ He’d been lubing his cock for not even a second, there was no way–

Dean grips his cock hard enough to turn his skin white, gritting his teeth as he towers over Castiel and tries to push his cockhead into his tight, tight little hole. It’s hard, so fucking hard, like trying to smash a peg into a too-small hole, and Dean seethes above Castiel in irritation, _ “Fucking let me in, you fucking cunt!” _

Castiel moves his hands from flailing uselessly at his sides to down past his hips, under his thighs to grab at his ass, clawing them as far apart as he can. He tries to relax himself, which is extremely hard considering there’s a gigantic cock bearing down on him, trying to fuck itself into his guts already. He can imagine the pain vividly, already wincing to himself, but knows his master would be _ very _ angry at him if he were to stop here when they both know very well he’ll enjoy it anyway–because he’s a horrid _ cockslut, _ of course.

So he tells his body to relax and finally, it does.

Dean’s head _ finally fucking _ pops in, stretching Castiel’s hole to its very limit around it. Castiel shouts in sharp needles of pain, but Dean groans in ecstasy over him. Tight, tight, _ tight. _ Holy _ fuck. _ It’s tight enough it almost hurts, and that’s _ fucking amazing. _

He presses forward, ignoring Castiel’s writhing and crying beneath him, fucking his cock in deeper with both his hips and hands, feeding his cock into Castiel’s unwilling hole.

It’s mere seconds of bliss for Dean, but seems like years of agony to Castiel, Dean’s thick cock like two of his own forced into his one tiny hole, forced to spread ridiculously for his girth, make room for his cock to fuck further into him. But finally, finally, Dean reaches his hilt, balls seated firmly against the underside of Castiel’s ass.

Dean seems to still for a moment, content to just sit there and breathe a bit heavily, staring down at Castiel who writhes in misery beneath him. He looks so small from up there, sitting fully above him. Dean devours his body with his eyes, taking in his unusually slight, slender frame—a twink in any sense of the word—pink nipples at the peak of his tiny, perky tits; impressions of his ribs just barely visible through his pale, tight skin; his cock at the junction of his thin legs twitching even despite the pain.

“God, you look so _ beautiful, _ my little slave,” Dean practically purrs. Castiel’s eyes close when he hears that, a sensation of joy overcoming the pain for a moment.

And then Dean rips his cock out, reigniting all the nerves of pain inside of Castiel’s body and making him sob once again. Dean draws out all the way to the very tip of his crown, slit and a few millimetres of his flesh still inside of his hole. His hard cock is flush and coated with lube as it pulls out of Castiel, veins throbbing almost visibly, certainly physically.

Dean moves his hands over Castiel’s still gripping his ass white, licking his lips as he sees the roundness of his thighs, soft skin pushed in by their combined fingers.

He thrusts in without warning, making his little cocksheath call out once again over the sounds of birdsong, muscles tensing in fresh agony. God, Dean’s just so fucking _ huge, _ if it weren’t for the lube, he’d be torn to _ fucking shreds. _

Dean sets the pace immediately fast and hard, thrusting out and in, out and in, hips hammering Castiel’s plush ass and crushing their hands so they both skitter away. Castiel pulls at the already sparing grass on the ground blindly, yet more tears running down his face both in pain and in pleasure, the sensation of sheer fullness and Dean’s cock nailing his prostate starting to get to him.

Dean shifts down, moving his own bare chest flush against Castiel’s, easily covering him and then some. He purposefully presses himself down on Castiel, hard enough it makes the angel’s already difficult breathing even fucking harder, the warmth immense, overwhelming. Dean’s too tall to look directly at Castiel’s face like this, so looks down past his hair to see his face red with flush, eyes puffy from crying, mouth parted and letting loose ragged moans that sound pleasured enough to Dean anyway.

Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s wings thrashing against the ground, digging his elbows into the dirt just beneath them to brace himself as he continues to fuck hard into Castiel’s pliant hole. He runs his fingers through Castiel’s feathers caked in dirt and other foreign substances, enjoying the airy softness which remains despite everything that’s happened. 

Castiel’s body finally gives up enough to allow Dean’s giant cock to stretch his hole fully to its girth, letting him soak in the pleasure he’s been so sorely missing. He moans loudly, Dean fucking into him mercilessly.

“You like it, huh?”

“Y-yes, sir, ah, ah it feels _ s-so good,” _Castiel pants, eyes glazed over when they look up into Dean’s amused ones.

“Heh, that’s good, baby.” He grabs a feather in each of his hands, “but not _ too _good, hm?”

Castiel doesn’t know what he means until Dean yanks his wrists down, the long feathers within his grip tugging so hard they threaten to rip right out of his bone, making him scream all over again, this time not just an ache but a sharp, needle-thin, concentrated _ agony. _

But Dean keeps fucking into him, pressing him into the dirt, making his very bones shake with just how hard he’s ravaging him, hands roaming about his wings to find new pieces to pull. Castiel’s hole has loosened a bit, still snug, but it could be tighter, and whenever he makes Castiel scream, his hole clenches back to that wondrous _ virgin tightness. _ It makes Dean groan, so he keeps doing it, keeps slamming into him, pulling his feathers enough to nearly rip them from his muscles.

Castiel tries to wrench his wings away, consciously or not Dean doesn’t even care at this point, but Dean just keeps catching him, grabbing fistfuls of light feathers and rending them down toward himself before letting go just when he feels real resistance begin to build. Castiel’s wings will flutter again, thrash and kick up dirt and leaves, but Dean will just snap them up inevitably, repeat the cycle indefinitely, yanking as hard as he can, loose feathers dislodging from Castiel’s wings into a small pile that surrounds them.

The pain mixes with the pleasure into a beautiful cacophony in Castiel’s head, an infinite feedback loop that intensifies the other until it becomes too much, _ way _too much.

“G-gonna, ah, cum! _ M-master!” _

Dean pushes hard into Castiel, bearing the weight of his body down until Castiel can hardly breathe, blood sloshing through his brain audibly as asphyxiation sets in, numbing euphoria joining it. He can barely hear Dean bite above him, _ “Cum, slut,” _ before he already is, small spurts of ejaculate shooting from his cocklet and onto the hot, sweating flesh above him before dripping down onto his own body.

Dean grits his teeth, slapping his hands down on Castiel’s hips to lift him up a little, let him drive into him even deeper, harder. Castiel’s tight around him again, pulsing with orgasm, hole almost seeming to try to milk him of his cum. He groans, _ “Ah, fuck, Cas,” _ and then he’s gone, overtaken by pure white bliss, distantly feeling himself breeding Castiel’s hole deep, filling him with his warm cum.

Castiel cants his hips beneath him, whimpering. _ “C-can’t breathe.” _

Dean raises himself from him easily, looking down to him with an expressionless face. “Did you _ really like _ that?”

“Mmm, I quite did.”

_ “All _of that?”

“Oh, y-yes.” He wiggles his ass down on Dean’s cock still firmly seated balls-deep inside of him, feeling his cum slosh around in his guts. “The asphyxiation, the pain, the humiliation,” he smiles lazily, “aw, it was all _ wonderful.” _

Dean frowns slightly, gently touching one of Castiel’s browned feathers. “What about this, though?”

“I said you could do it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but… look at them.”

Castiel tilts his head a little, reaches his small hand up to run along Dean’s chin up to his jawline. “Nothing a little water can’t fix.”

They both sigh in dismay as Dean draws out of Castiel’s hole, leaving it absolutely gaping, creamy loads of human cum lining his hole and leaking from it down his ass. Dean grabs Castiel in strong arms, pulling him into an affectionate hug for a peaceful moment before they rise onto equally unsteady legs, collecting their things but still not dressing themselves, at least not yet.

For they have a bit of skinny-dipping and bathing to do in the nearby lake.

As they begin the short trek there, Castiel glances up to Dean, smiling easily. God, he does look really beautiful, especially with this afterglow of an intense fuck, seed still running down his thighs even as he walks through the long grass.

“So,” Castiel begins, glancing to the sunset sky peeking through the leaves above, _ “you’re _going to be doing most of the cleaning, you know.”

Dean huffs. Dammit.

Castiel laughs lightly, eyes locking with Dean’s as though a petulant challenge.

“And _ you’re _ grooming them again afterward. _ Extensively.” _

“Oh, come–”

Castiel presses a nail to Dean’s naked chest, not going far for the impressive muscle there. “An hour. _ At least.” _

Castiel snickers as Dean stops to groan, strutting ahead of him deeper into the woods, huge wings trailing behind him and mimicking the motions of his hands reaching back to Dean.

“Come on, _ master, _ you made your mess, you gotta clean it!”

Dean sighs behind him but throws his bag over his shoulder, stomping after him and his stupid, beautiful wings. _ “That’s not even the right idiom…” _

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
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